every teardrop is a waterfall
by chidorinnn
Summary: Families come and go, and Kurapika will endure as always. Fem!Kurapika AU.


_Kurapika is a girl in this. There's no great, profound reason for this, other than my own frustration with the lack of a female protagonist within the four main characters._

* * *

Some days, Kurapika remembers sitting cross-legged under a tree in the village, a book almost too heavy for her to carry alone lying in her lap as she reads out loud and traces each word with her finger. Pairo sits with his legs tucked under him, resting his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes. The sky is clear, and it is neither too hot nor too cold.

The prospect of leaving the village had been almost too good to be true — Pairo would have had no trouble with the test if not for his poor eyes and injured legs, but Kurapika? She was too vibrant, too easily swayed by her emotions.

His arms had been around her that night, as they rode back into the village together. She'd been crying then, sniveling pitifully and occasionally reaching up to rub her nose with her sleeve, while Pairo simply pressed his forehead into her back without saying a word.

"You didn't fail, you know," he'd said at some point, perhaps taking pity on her, and it took her a few seconds too long to process his words because her sobs had almost completely drowned them out.

"Mm?" was all she could say in return, and when she saw the phial in in his hands and the mischievous smirk pulling his features into an almost-laugh, she found herself crying for an entirely different reason.

* * *

Some days, Kurapika remembers sitting with her legs tucked under her, a too-small book that she'd picked more for practicality's sake than for her own enjoyment lying in her lap as she reads silently to herself and tunes out the rest of the world.

It was almost laughably easy to ignore the lecherous grins the less-than-honorable participants sent her way, even though not a single word from her book entered her head.

There had been a man constantly hovering over her that day — too large and too imposing and too loud. She pretended not to notice, of course, because there was a chance that he'd misconstrue it, take it as an invitation to do… something not entirely innocent.

She couldn't remember what exactly he'd said that set her off — the captain's probing questions had drained her more than she wanted to admit, and one unnecessary quip from Leorio later, she was storming outside, too stupid with hurt and self-righteous fury to maintain any semblance of dignity.

"Hey!" Leorio shouted as he grabbed onto her wrist, sounding more exasperated than sympathetic. She'd been close to tears then, and it was only through sheer willpower that she could suppress them. "What's the big idea?"

There was a fire in his eyes that she would need if she was serious about her mission, and his vice-like grip on her arm was almost painful. "Let go," she whispered, and his lack of reaction confirmed that the howling wind had drowned out her voice.

Leorio's face turned very, very red. His forehead crashed into hers, and suddenly, there he was — too large and too imposing and too loud. "Listen, you—"

And then, out of nowhere, one of the crew members flew past her, over the side of the ship and followed by that boy Gon. She didn't think when she wrenched her arm out of Leorio's grasp and dove toward Gon. She had only a split second to realize just how _stupid_ the move was before she lost her balance and toppled over the edge with him.

All of a sudden, something pulled her back. Leorio gripped the railing with one hand, dangling over the edge with her and Gon and that crew member. Kurapika made a barely audible noise of surprise as she crashed into his chest. She could barely breathe amidst the shock and the strength of his grip, but his arm around her torso paradoxically felt more comforting than constricting. "Hang on!" he shouted loudly enough for his voice to carry over the storm.

Kurapika didn't dare look away from Gon, her arms shaking from the exertion. Gon's arms were around the fallen crew member, and he looked up at Kurapika and gave her a smile that was brighter than the sun. "He's okay!"

There was nothing in Gon's statement that could conceivably have set her off — but when she looked down, it was Pairo smiling up at her instead. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she mentally thanked the rain for hiding them.

In what she later learned was no time at all, the rest of the crew members pulled them to safety. For several long moments, while Gon and the crew member left to help steer the ship out of the storm, she and Leorio just laid there together. Leorio maintained his vice-like grip on her, as if she'd blow away in the wind if he dared to let go.

When sunlight illuminated the deck, Kurapika finally regained the presence of mind to shift away from him. Leorio's face flushed scarlet, and he jumped back like a startled animal. "Ah…" He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "You okay?" She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. "Ah, that's good to hear."

Perhaps this man wasn't as coarse and classless as she'd originally thought. She managed a small smile for him. "Thank you, Leorio-san."

"Ah…" His face turned very, very red. "N-No need to be so formal!" he spluttered, waving his hand. "Just 'Leorio' is fine. And, uh…" His eyes narrowed, and he dipped his head forward. "Sorry. About what I said before."

"Leorio!" Gon called from the mast. "Kurapika! Are you okay?"

When Leorio began shouting at Gon, scolding him for being so reckless, Kurapika laughed for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

* * *

Some days, Kurapika remembers standing with her back to a window in the airship, the words in the too-heavy book blurring together. It's simultaneously too hot and too cold. Her head hurts. She doesn't know if she's crying or if her eyes are watering from the exhaustion.

Gon and Killua had barreled into her, almost knocking her down in their excitement and relief. The book lay forgotten on the floor as she demanded they tell her everything that had happened to them, everything the Phantom Troupe had done to them.

"We're fine," Gon said, his voice sounding oddly muffled to her ears, "so you don't have to worry anymore, Kurapika!"

"You… leader, right?" Everything blurred together into an indistinguishable mass of color as Killua's voice cut in and out. "Oi… Gon… Leorio! Now!"

What little strength she had left slipped away then. She crumpled to the floor, her legs no longer able to support her weight. "It's… not over…" she whispered, but she couldn't tell if Killua had heard her.

"Kurapika!" Gon called from far away.

"Get back!" Leorio yelled, startlingly clear. As always, he was too large and too imposing and too loud. He propped her up with one arm around her shoulders, pressing two fingers against the side of her neck. She couldn't summon the energy to tell him that she was still alive, that she hadn't violated any of the conditions she'd set for herself.

"Is she okay?" Gon asked.

"Does she _look_ okay to you?" Killua retorted.

"Shut it!" Leorio snapped.

"Mm," Kurapika said as she forced her eyes open for a few too-short seconds, burning the image of her companions' anxious faces hovering hazily above her into her memory.

Either Gon or Killua squeezed her free hand tightly with both hands. The other ran his fingers over the chains on her other hand until they disappeared along with her grasp on her Nen. Leorio pulled her close to his chest like he did the day they'd met. Though she couldn't make out what her three companions were saying, their voices alone eased the stress from her crusade against the Phantom Troupe.

* * *

The skin-tight black dress feels oddly constricting amidst the cold emptiness of the church. She's let her hair grow too long, and it feels like a heavy weight on her shoulders driving her into the ground. There is no one there but her and jars upon jars of scarlet eyes.

In place of tears, there is a pervasive listlessness. Her cell phone feels cold and heavy in her hands, and the screen lights up too brightly to remind her that her voicemail inbox is almost full.

There's no book to distract her as she sits gingerly on the pews — only her cell phone, her one connection to the boys who became her family. The messages that fill her inbox are all theirs, Leorio's the most numerous amidst the three.

Killua's messages are short and clipped, straightforward and to the point. Gon's are cheerful and exuberant, prattling on about grand tales of adventure and excitement that make most of his messages end mid-sentence. Leorio's messages are loud but warm, chastising her for not answering her phone and reminding her to take care of her health.

The idea of _home_ is too strong in her mind for her to ignore it a moment longer. It's the exhaustion, she tells herself as she scrolls through her contacts for a specific number, built up and exacerbated over the weeks she's been away.

Leorio answers halfway through the second ring.


End file.
